


And the world turned on its head

by CorsetJinx



Category: Hindu Religions & Lore, Mahabharata - Vyasa, Ramayana - Valmiki
Genre: Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Place Swap, Shenanigans, trading places
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 20:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19027807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: Series of tumblr meme fills based around two characters switching places and how their lives might have played out differently.





	1. Abhimanyu and Pradyumna

* The child Mayavati finds is a wonder, fighting to free himself from a fish several times his own size. He squirms in her arms, blinking up at her with wide eyes once she has eased him from slack jaws. Narada’s words drift through her mind as she hushes him, wiping brine from his face and body. He does not _look_ familiar, this boy. But his eyes draw her attention, bright and inquisitive; bordering on mischievous even though he is so young.

She takes him with her, hides him from her master and in her spare hours teaches him the necessary things. To walk and talk, how to hide. In time, perhaps, how to wield a weapon. Already he listens with rapt attention whenever she visits, as though he were put solely upon the earth to learn everything he could.

 

* Moments after he is born, Pradyumna captures his family’s delighted adoration. He is a lovely boy as he grows, sweet tempered and mild. Until, it seems, he takes it into mind to toddle away from his mother and hide himself in unexpected corners of rooms and gardens. The strangest, perhaps, when he is found in one of the gardens happily babbling to the birds who seem to hang on his every word.

“They are his closest friends,” Subhadra chuckles, plucking leaves and feathers from her son’s hair. “Not something he inherited from his father, I think. But so long as they do not carry him away, I suppose there is nothing to worry about.”

“So that is why I’ve found so many flowers scattered everywhere.” Her brother remarks thoughtfully, eyeing the babe in her hold with amusement. “Perhaps he asks them to bring you gifts.”

 

* “You should not have rushed so.” Mayavati tells Abhimanyu lowly, frowning over the wounds he sports. How he glances at her hopefully from the corner of his eye. He winces as she bandages his side, but he keeps still.

“I wanted to make you proud.” Abhimanyu replies in a subdued voice, peering at her face through his lashes when she pauses. “You are all I have ever known. All that I know to love.”

A small, wistful part of Mayavati aches at that; an impression of another who might have done anything for love crossing her mind.

“Recklessness is not something to be proud of,” she counters, reminding herself to be gentle as she patches the rest of his hurts. “Did you give thought to the chance you might have died? How could I be proud, or felt anything but bereft, if such had been the case? You are not even sixteen yet, and that is much too young.”

“I will be more careful.” Abhimanyu ventures carefully, brushing her hand with his own. “When we leave, I promise.”

 

* Destroying the _Chakravyūha_ sends what remains of the Kaurava army scattering across the battlefield. Pradyumna watches, exhausted but alive, as they retreat. He trudges back towards the Pandava camp, submits to his fellows’ insistence that he receive treatment for his injuries.

“I might have been able to do it.” Abhimanyu muses, after, joining him in what feels like one of the last moments of quiet they’ll have during this war. He sports less bandages than Pradyumna does, makes no secret of his inquisitiveness in regards to the Kuru’s legendary formation. “What was it like?”

“Nothing to wish upon anyone.” Pradyumna says at last, flexing his fingers slowly with a wince. “Too close and crowded with men. Too many things which might have gone wrong. I am glad you were away, in truth.”

Abhimanyu frowns, but says nothing else for the moment. Pradyumna closes his eyes, breathes in, and hopes this war will be over soon.


	2. Bharat and Balarama

* “You should not steal from them.” Bharat admonishes when Krishna returns, bright-eyed and lurking around corners to avoid Yashoda’s keen eye. Bharat obligingly lowers his voice, but otherwise makes no attempt to assist his brother’s hiding. “The _gopis_ work hard for their butter, and it takes hours to milk all the cows. It is wasteful for you to break their pots and cavort as you do.”

To his frustration and bewilderment, Kanha only _smiles_.

“Of course, _bhaiyaa_.” His brother says cheerfully. “I am fortunate to have you to remind me of what is right and wrong. Will you help me carry this back, then?” He lifts the stolen pot and Bharat, relieved to have broken through Krishna’s sense of mischievousness at last; reaches to help. Only too late does he hear the calling of Yashoda’s voice, her steps quickly approaching. And Krishna is gone, leaving him with the empty pot and a mortified look on his face.

 

* “Let me accompany you.” Balarama insists, with brows furrowed and mouth twisted into a scowl. “It is not right for only one of us to follow you and help protect the sages’ _yajnas_. Lakshmana is loyal, but his temper is short. You need someone else, so that your own dislike of telling him no does not get in the way.”

“And leave our father and mothers with only one son to attend them?” Rama counters, checking his arrows for warping or weakness. “To leave Shatrughna alone, when he shall have need of someone to confide in and seek guidance from? Lakshmana listens, even in his fits of temper. And you,” Rama touches Balarama’s arm lightly. “Will worry yourself to death if your path aligns with ours. Stay, brother, and we shall return once the sages have no need to fear for their worship being interrupted.”

Balarama’s shoulders droop, he shakes his head. But he also adds, “I shall hold you to it, _bhaiyaa_. Come home, both of you. Preferably in one piece.”

 

* “We cannot afford to take a side in this.” Bharat’s voice silences the squabbling of the council. Even Krishna pauses, the threads of plans intending to be sown halting on his tongue. Beneath the collective eye of Yadava nobles Bharat straightens, features somber. “We must look after our own people, rather than involve ourselves in the quarrels of our kin. The _Narayani Sena_ would be put to better use securing our borders, protecting those who cannot make the journey to Dwarka because of hardship or fear.”

Dissent breaks out among some of the nobles. Urgasena cast a glance around the court, shifting in his seat with a frown.

“As my brother once pointed out,” Bharat continued, undeterred. “It is better to consider the people’s welfare than to act recklessly in the name of glory or fame. War might grant us those, but it will deplete precious supplies; if not empty our treasury once again. Where will that leave our future generations, let alone the children we have now? Those who depend upon our decisions for their health and safety?”

“My brother makes a fair point.” Krishna says at last, eyes twinkling as he drummed idle fingers over his knee. “Let us re-examine our current issues of note.”

 

* “You are a _fool_.” Balarama growls, more angry than Rama has ever seen him. More angry than _Lakshmana_ , who at his brother’s proclamation of Sita’s exile had snapped his favorite bow in twain upon hearing the words. For the first time in their lives Rama nearly steps back, frowning as Balarama looms before him.

“I must consider the voices of my people.” He says, tone firm and lacking the affection Balarama _knows_ Rama feels for Sita. “I am Kosala’s king. If my citizens are unanimous in their doubts then I must follow my dharma to them.”

“ _She is your wife._ ” Balarama retorts, eyes flashing. “And pregnant with _your_ child. The gods themselves came down and rebuked you for questioning her devotion to you. Now, you bend so easily for rumors spread by another? You would risk her health and the child’s so freely?”

Rama squares his shoulders, chin raised. They stare at each other in silence, unwilling to back down.

“If you are so certain,” Balarama says at last, voice low. “Then leave me out of it. I, for one, refuse to stomach a woman’s suffering for the sake of pride.”

Rama’s eyes widen, mouth parting to speak. Balarama strides by him without pausing to listen. By morning, he is gone and so is his mace; all the better protection for accompanying a pregnant woman into the forest.


	3. Arjuna and Indrajit

* Arjuna eschews most of the revelry that takes place in _Lankapuri_ , preferring to only make appearances when his father demands or if a holiday must be paid proper tribute. He hears belatedly of the ascetic woman’s kidnapping, feels the first stirring of unease spreading through him. His uncle, Vibhishana, seems to share those same impressions. It is by coincidence that they happen to meet, two restless souls put-off from the celebrations taking place in the palace and in search of quiet.

“He should not have done it.” Vibhishana murmurs, after pleasantries have been made and they are standing half in shadow; watching the lamps dance and flicker. “Everything about the deed is wrong and he will not listen to sense.”

“It will make trouble for Lanka.” Arjuna replies in agreement, low enough that his voice should not carry. His features twist and he looks away from the dancing lights with a frown. “I will speak with him. Perhaps… perhaps there is a chance he might listen to me, or at least consider his actions if another voice is added to the chorus.”

Vibhishana does not look relieved, but neither does he appear quite so resigned. “Try.” He says at last. “And we shall await the result.”

 

* “He _deserves_ to die.” Indrajit protests darkly when Vidura speaks of keeping quiet about Duryodhana’s attempts at poisoning his brother. Ignoring Yudhisthira’s warning look, he continues. “The only thing Duryodhana has done for us is made our time in the palace a form of _hell_. Cousin or not, aren’t we _owed_ our vengeance?”

Kunti’s expression darkens and she sets a hand on her son’s arm. His wide shoulders fall back at her touch and the worst of his bristling quiets, but Indrajit’s eyes still flash with displeasure when he glances at her.

“You will do no such thing.” She tells him, daring to hope that even in his terrible anger she can make him keep any promise he’s made to her. “He is family. And we are fortunate to have been allowed to stay here, whatever hardships might have surfaced afterwards.”

To her relief, he starts to master himself. From the corner of her eye Kunti sees Vidura release a sigh in similar gratitude.

“Besides,” Bhima, her dear boy, rumbles with conviction. “It is _my_ right to deal with Duryodhana.”

Indrajit scowls at him for that but doesn’t contest his brother about it. Not _yet_.

 

* “Are you so afraid of losing your status to a human archer that you come to _grovel_ before me?” Ravana sneers, the expression ugly across his ten faces. Worse still is the look in his eyes, avarice twisting the man Arjuna has loved and sought to honor into someone unrecognizable. “There is no use for a _coward_ in my army, no matter who he might be.”

 _Coward_ , his mind echoes and reels; turns the grip on his bow iron-tight and makes his fingers ache. Retorts climb his throat, demanding to be spoken. Arjuna swallows them back with effort, setting his jaw.

“Apologies, father.” He manages, thinking of Vibhishana’s warnings and how long it might take to cross the battlefield. “The mistake was my own. It will not happen again.”

Perhaps, if he is quick, amends might be made. It is unquestionably obvious now that nothing he says will change his father’s mind. That knowledge weighs on him, more than anything else, as he moves his feet.

 

* “Mother will be in prayer.” Indrajit explains, bringing water and fresh fruit for Draupadi to indulge in at her leisure once the excitement of her _swayamvara_ is far behind and his brothers mill about outside their humble abode. “It is better to wait than disturb her, if you can forgive the delay.”

“It is no great trouble.” Draupadi answers, subtly lifting a brow at the platter he sets before her; head lowered when at her _swayamvara_ he’d all but stared Duryodhana and his brothers down as he loosed the arrow at the fish’s eye. Since then he’d seen to her every comfort, even after shaking off the garland she’d tossed over him and presenting it to his eldest brother. “Do you fear she will reject me so badly?”

Indrajit’s eyes bore into her own with peculiar intensity of a sort only her own family has managed.

“No.” He says after a moment has passed, looking away before someone might think to call their conversation untoward. “Fearful of what you might bring, perhaps. But she will love you, in all your forms. As shall we, your new brothers. If our service should be unsatisfactory, our mother will see to it that you want for nothing in this world.”

“I have little doubt of it.” Draupadi’s mouth curves as she reaches for the slices of mango.


	4. Vrishali and Subhadra

* “Keep your head down.” Vrishali advises, steering the chariot with eerily familiar ease. Her words do little to soothe Arjuna’s stung pride, but he surrenders to her judgment for now.

“You do not _truly_ believe this to be a good idea, do you?” He cannot help but ask, trying and failing to hide his attempts at undoing the knotted rope about his wrists. It does not help that Vrishali had the foresight to bind his thumbs as well; something Arjuna is slowly growing to admire her for.

She spares him a glance once they are free of any stragglers bound for the festival, more cool appraisal than girlish mischief.

“My brother Kanha has his own plans,” she tells him over the measured pounding of the horses’ hooves. “and I do not doubt that our Balarama means well. But you are precious to one and I to the other. If you will swallow your pride and hear me, then we might get each of them to listen.”

Despite himself, Arjuna listens.

 

* “Marry me.” Subhadra repeats, watching the various emotions flicker across Karna’s face. Her smile doesn’t falter even when he studies her with suspicion, glancing around them as if hoping to spot someone willing to inform him this was all a farce. There is no one, and Subhadra knows enough to have timed her request exactly to when Karna performs his daily prayers.

Her parents, she knows, would happily do their best to find an excellent match for her that they could. And she _does_ love them for it. But an honest man is an easier beast to wrangle than one who sings sweetly to win her hand, only to turn around and make her life difficult later.

“We are both _sutas_.” Subhadra points out lightly. “I am no threat to you and your ambitions, whatever they may be. With a wife at your side, others will believe you to be in a stable position; as opposed to a man with nothing to ground him. We can be allies, if you are willing to respect me as my own person.”

“Surely you could have picked someone else.” Karna ventures thoughtfully, studying her. “Someone more suited to your ideal.”

Subhadra shakes her head, resolute. “I am asking for you.”

 

* Vrishali shifts, willing away the nudge of sleep at her eyes. After a moment she sits up, brushing aside Arjuna’s concerned murmur. “I am fine.” She assures. The pressure on her belly is less sharp now that she’s up and that alone is a precious gift. Still, Arjuna watches her closely enough that Vrishali shakes her head.

“Tell me again about the Chakravyuha, before I forget.” Vrishali asked. “Everything you can remember, no matter how trifling it sounds.”

Arjuna laughs, reaching to smooth down her hair and press a kiss against her forehead. “Why? We’ve discussed this. You will not be on the battlefield with me so long as you’re with child.”

“Tell me.” Vrishali insisted, “So that I do not forget. No battle plan is completely impervious.”

 

* “You are not welcome here.” Subhadra’s voice is cold. Her tone casts a pall over those assembled, enough that even Arjuna draws back a little. Yet he manages to pluck up enough courage to speak, taking a careful step forward.

“The war is over, _maharani_.” He says, hoping that his soft voice will coax some of the harshness from her face. “We mean you and Anga no harm. We are family, after all.”

Subhadra studied him with dark eyes, thumb idly brushing over the pommel of the dagger at her side. “You presume to call yourselves my family, after you murdered my husband and sons? Your half-brother and nephews?”

Arjuna flinched, shoulders rising.

“No.” Subhadra continued thoughtfully, mouth twisting. “You and yours are no family of mine. Hastinapur, the Pandavas may have. But not Anga, or those who call her home. And not my son, whom you would use to assuage yourself of guilt.”

“That is not - “ Arjuna begins. The sound of blades being drawn behind him convinces him to be silent.

“ _Leave_ , Kaunteya.” Flicking her wrist, Subhadra raised her chin in clear dismissal. “Should you return, Anga will go to war.”


	5. Rama and Arjuna

* “I never _intended_ to damage the bow.” Arjuna tells her quietly, with all the prickly mutiny of a boy trying to salvage a first impression. “I only wished to hold it, if I could.” He pauses, studying their hands; fingers and palms still fragrant from sandalwood paste.

“You might have done it yourself, Janaki.” He continues after a moment, one fingertip reverently brushing the crescent scar on her thumb. When he looks up at her again his dark eyes are wondering, awestruck and curious. “Lifted Shiva’s bow and taken your freedom wherever you pleased.”

Sita does not love him, but she does find his awkward intensity it’s own sort of endearing. She clasps their hands and smiles. “And embarrassed my father? My mother and sisters? No, better that it was you. That we might manage to be free as friends than Mithila face a war over a bow.”

“Friends.” Arjuna repeats, no good at hiding the flicker of relief that darts through his eyes. “I would like that.”

 

* “I have no desire for a bride.” Rama murmurs serenely as one prince after another trails away in disappointment from the swayamvara’s challenge. He eyes the great bow with thinly veiled interest, studies the pool of what might be oil or water; then glances up at the whirling blades overhead. “But we are in need of allies,” he continues, ever-aware that Yudhisthira is listening. “And you have need of someone to match your mind.”

At his words Yudhisthira flushes, clearing his throat delicately. Bhima, at his side, only briefly looks their way. Then his gaze goes back to the soldiers, and then the food.

“I know not what you mean.” Yudhisthira whispers back.

Rama’s eyes twinkle when he looks at his eldest brother and he stands easily enough, walking forward with folded palms.

 

* “Why a golden deer,” Arjuna muses, much to Sita and Lakshmana’s surprise, “when you might have a golden swan instead?” He points upwards, past the clouds as they slowly follow his direction.

Lakshmana frowns as he scans the sky, blinking twice before he sees it. Sita lets out an awestruck noise as she finally makes out the curious shape above them.

“A hide will grow threadbare after a time and lose its luster.” Arjuna continues, looking at each of them in turn for approval. “But the feathers could be put to different uses. What better way to greet our mothers and sisters than with gifts they will be able to share?”

The smile on Sita’s face is radiant, her thoughts full of Urmila, Mandavi and Shrutakirti. She nods, eyes bright. Only Lakshmana, still frowning, does not move.

“It is not like a swan to remain so still. Or to fly so high.” Already his hands reach for the bow and quiver ever at his side, face set in a mask of concentration. “Stand back, _bhaiyaa_. Sita _bhabi_. I’ll shoot it down and we can see if it truly is a prize to be had.”

 

* “It is not possible for a man to wager that which is not his own.” Rama’s voice brings the laughter and jeers to an abrupt silence. Sahadeva, face ashen, freezes in place; half-risen from his seat to comply with Yudhisthira’s desperate wager. Nakula’s eyes flash, Bhima’s great hands curled into fists. Yudhisthira slowly turns, as do Duryodhana and Shakuni, to look at him.

Rama, deceptively calm, only continues. “A king might bet his treasury, his servants, the animals within his stables. But for those who are not tied to him by blood are not bound so.” His eyes meet Sahadeva’s, then Nakula’s. “Madri’s sons are not Dharmaraj’s to sell.”

Sahadeva hesitates, swallowing. Then he sits beside his twin, and their hands link subtly between them for comfort.

“Even so.” Duryodhana begins, shifting to better get more comfortable. “He has yet to quit the game.”

“May we examine the dice?” Rama suddenly asks, his face open and sweet as a lotus. “It is a fine set, to be sure. And yet I find it curious that such elegant pieces might possess so great a flaw to always lose whenever it is my brother’s turn, without fail.”


End file.
